


Of Derbies, Dutchmen, & Post-Match Drinking

by BarettaVendetta



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, Everton F.C., Hurt/Comfort, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Merseyside Derby, Parody, RPF, Rivalry, manager slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8940685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarettaVendetta/pseuds/BarettaVendetta
Summary: When Ronald Koeman became Everton's manager, he had no idea about the traditional post-match ritual for the rival managers...until Jürgen enlightened him. Also contains some post-match Jagielka / Baines hurt / comfort.





	

Liverpool had beaten Everton 1-0, and as Adam Lallana threw himself into Jürgen Klopp's arms and Jordan Henderson clapped James Milner on the back, Leighton Baines buried his head in his hands. It was the first time he'd captained Everton this season, and the fucking kopites had beaten them in injury time. Eight minutes. He could have cried. Poor Ross Barkley looked like he was about to. Seamus Coleman appeared to be trying to console him. And there was the gaffer, with a face like thunder. The changing room was not going to be a fun place.   
It always hurt, losing to Liverpool. But at least there was Jags to console him. Neither of them were getting any younger, and with Tim, Ossie and Hibbo gone, all they had now was each other.

Ronald Koeman gave the Everton team his unvarnished opinion of them. As he was coming out of the changing room, his opposite number appeared. Klopp was the last person Koeman wanted to see right now, but on the other hand, he really needed that traditional post-match wine, and he doubted Klopp would turn down an opportunity for what the locals called a 'bevvy' either. The two managers exchanged pleasantries, and sure enough, Klopp asked if he fancied a post-match drink.  
"Why not," said Koeman. "Why not." He had nothing against the German, after all, team rivalries aside. Not like that bastard van Gaal.

Baines cornered Jagielka in the car park.  
"Phil," he said. "Tell me. Have I failed as a captain?"  
Jagielka cupped Baines' worried face in his hands. "Course not, you daft sod," he said kindly. "It's Liverpool, they're title contenders - sorry, I know it's blasphemous or whatever, but it's true. Don't beat yourself up." He held out his arms. "Come here, you."  
Baines sank gratefully into Jagielka's embrace.

Koeman and Klopp were on their third glass, and Koeman nearly spat his wine out when Klopp dropped his bombshell.  
"I don't know if you know this," the Liverpool manager said, smiling mischievously, "but I'm going to cut to the chase. We have this post-Derby ritual. And I'm not talking about the drink. The managers of Liverpool and Everton have sex. And it's customary for the manager of the winning team to top. You know this?"  
Koeman did not know.   
"It's true," said Klopp earnestly, "Just ask Roberto Martinez."  
Koeman stood up. "Jürgen, you are drunk. I haven't got time for this. I going home now."  
"Oh, go on," Klopp pleaded, "it's nearly Christmas."  
Koeman downed the rest of his glass and headed for the door, but Klopp was quicker, and blocked his path.  
"Please."  
He looked at Koeman with drowning eyes.  
"Don't make that face at me, Jürgen," said the Everton manager.  
"Oh go on."  
"No."  
"But Martinez did!"  
Koeman snorted. "I am not Martinez," he said, "and this is stupid. Just because I am Dutch does not mean I am some kind of raging sex maniac." Now it was Klopp's turn to snort. "You and I both know that's a lie, Ronald." And Klopp flung off his coat, undid his tie and threw it carelessly across the room.  
"Even if it was," protested Koeman, "why should I let you fuck me? Your team have just fucked mine, it is not fair for me to get fucked too, is it?" He felt his face starting to burn.  
Klopp took his shoes off, placed his hands on Koeman's broad shoulders, and did a convincing impression of a sad Alsatian puppy.  
The big Dutchman sighed, and began to undo his tie. "Honestly," he complained, "you are worse than bloody Louis van Gaal was when we were both at Ajax."  
"You are a pain in the arse," said Klopp, as the two men began to strip and Koeman placed a chair against the door. "Martinez was more compliant." He smiled as he remembered how the little Spaniard had willingly dropped to his knees and all but begged Klopp to fuck him senseless.  
Koeman sighed again and leaned against the wall, his head on his arms.   
"Alright, Jürgen. Just try not to be too long, OK?"

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Liverpool, Jagielka and Baines slept, wrapped in each other's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of background: this was originally posted on the Fail Fandom Anon community. In one of the football threads, I promised my fellow football nonnies on Fail Fandom Anon that I'd write a slashfic about the managers of Everton and Liverpool, inspired by the Merseyside Derby result. And here we are.
> 
> I'm an Evertonian, in case anyone's wondering.


End file.
